Wednesday, October 3, 2012


Entitlement. That's my problem. I guess I always figured I deserved happiness. That somehow good things would come to me and the horrors I saw others go through were, albeit awful, not going to happen to me. How do we become entitled to happiness? I suppose from magnificent good fortune. But all that good fortune sure doesn't prepare you for the reality, which sooner or later, bites us all in the ass. I simply can't stand the horror show we are living. I want desperately to be living with my daughter and her husband--who want me!--but it is becoming clearer by the day that I don't have that freedom. I am just sick that my grandson has grown his chubby thighs and extra round cheeks without my testifying to them. I saw a magazine in a doctor's office recently showing a young woman in flight--it looked as though she were diving off the bow of a great ship. The graceful arc of her body, the clear blues of the sea and the sky, the perfect whites of the few clouds above her all contributed to the sensation of freedom. I can't get that image from my mind. I want to be that girl. And he is miserable. Which breaks my heart. He doesn't know exactly what's wrong, but he senses it is somehow his fault and he definitely senses my despair. So I am miserable and despairing and guilty of making him feel bad about that. I am not flying gracefully off the bow of a beautiful yacht or watching my newest grandbaby thrive and grow. What or where in the world is the answer to that? I am in new and unknown territory, remember, as I am spoiled rotten by my former good fortune. I don't know what to do, but entitlement or not, feeling like this is awful.

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